


The Knot

by ryanstorm



Category: Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, PHASES (Band), Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 13:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14498400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryanstorm/pseuds/ryanstorm
Summary: 17 year old Ryan Ross has to leave his life behind in Indiana to live with his aunt in California after the death of his parents. Ryan is the heir to the Ross Family inheritance and left behind with a fortune of a billion dollar. But besides his life being in danger because of this, Ryan dreads every part of moving. New school, new people, old memories. The only thing he has left to look forward to is using this opportunity as a fresh start. But nothing is ever that easy.





	The Knot

**Author's Note:**

> I have so many fragments of stories to share, conversations I want to hear, and ideas I want to explore. I was so excited to write this because it’s the perfect encapsulation of all those things.  
> —  
> Also sorry for the people who wanted me to make a canon ending for my last writing. I decided to leave it open ended without an explanation because it’s sorta hard to make a sequel if you know what happens... *hint if you read the archive warning*  
> —  
> This will be my first fic where I actually do chapters and build up my characters. The last fic I did was more of a scene to an ending so it was just a taste of my writing not a full thing.  
> —  
> uwu enjoy

The sky is sunny. No clouds pouring over the vivid blue. 

If you stare too long, your vision could turn fuzzy. But I stare anyways.

“Mr. Ross.”

I barely hear it.

“Mr. Ross,” a second later. 

I finally turn my neck over to the man in a suit across from me. We’re sitting in a conference room surrounded on all sides by windows. There’s two other people sitting at the table besides him and my aunt, whom of which is mainly just here for support.

“We have different burial options. Do you know which you’d like to go with? Or did your parents have any wishes?”  
I look at him blankly, forgetting why I’m even here. But then I remember and it hits me.

Oh.

Right.

“I don’t care. Aunt Marine can choose,” I say with obvious lack of emotion. 

I care. I do, I do.

She reaches for my hand, offering a sympathetic smile but I turn my head away sharply, looking out the window. I pull my hand back immediately.

Nobody speaks for a few seconds after my abrupt notion, but eventually my aunt saves the conversation with “don’t mind him, it’s been a tough last couple of days.”

This seems to satisfy the man as he nods and then they continue agreeing on the plans. Which type of coffin, maple or pine. Do we want the Lily’s or roses for the ceremony. Do we even want a ceremony or just a burial? A ceremony would be more preferable since they had a lot of work connections when they were still alive. People included in faulty business deals, making sure they’re finally gone.

I’ve imagined this day on so many occasions. What it would be like after the initial shock of my parents death. And in each day dream I’m surrounded by people who would never care to talk to me if they were still alive. 

I thought, for sure Spencer, even after all these months of staying as far away as possible, wouldn’t be able to abandon his brother who’s parents have died. Maybe out of the goodness of his heart.  
I would’ve even accepted it out of pure pity.

But it’s been five days.

Five days, and I’ve heard nothing from him. No phone calls, no emails.

Aunt Marine says he’s probably busy, life holding him up. And I’ll indulge her in it, smiling and nodding, telling her she’s probably right. 

But I know better. And she knows better. And she knows I know better, so I don’t know why we’re still lying to ourselves.  
He changed his phone number. I know because I’ve tried calling his old one from when we used to still keep in contact. But after awhile life really did hold me up. School got so busy. I spent that whole summer he was away applying for scholarships and college applications. 

I guess during that time he changed his phone number and never bothered to tell me.

Mom told me I shouldn’t of expected anything differently, he was just a selfish person. Dad called him a fuck up. But I knew they didn’t actually care. They were probably happy our ties were finally severed.

The day he left home, it ended bad. Screaming matches loud enough to shake the earths crust. 

First it was the Haley girl who he knocked up. Dad was furious and that was his first strike. It was a messy situation because there was a lot of threats made and decisions that Spencer should abandon both the baby and her mother. 

This is the day I knew Spencer was gone even before the real fighting happened. Mom followed Spencer in and out of every room as he held a duffel bag, murderously throwing clothes in as she yelled horrible things to his back. 

But that didn’t last long because after a week and two days, Haley threw Spencer out of her house in Connecticut and Spencer came back the following morning, apologizing after everything.  
They welcomed him back with half open arms but the tension was noticeable to anyone who looked at our family. 

The last straw was when the principal found a stash of weed in his locker at school. The weed wasn’t the problem, but when our parents and him sat down to talk, they discovered Spencer had stashes of other things kept in this house. Things far less innocent than weed. 

That killed the possibility of us ever being a family again. 

Spencer denied everything but he couldn’t even make it to the end of the school year. Dropping out junior year and taking off with some girl, I think Linda was it. We were both juniors them, a year in age apart, him just barely making the age cut before he’d have to step down a grade. 

The only time he came home after that was to make last amends before he was really gone. But dad ended up instead taking a swing at Spencer. Spencer fractured his left shoulder and that was the last we ever saw of him. Left me his phone number but wasn’t bothered to leave our parents with anything other than a “fuck you”.

It’s been 6 months since he left but it feels so fresh in my mind. 

Now we’re in the first week of October and I’ve missed plenty of days of school. Almost an entire week. But my grade can take the hit. Maybe not if I was still trying to get into an Ivy League college, but all ambition is lost. I’ll be happy with a B average as long as that means getting through the rest of this year.

~

I’m back home the next morning, taking yet another mental health day. And for what reason? I don’t really know, honestly. I’m not traumatized or emotionally unstable. My parents death is a bump in the road that was destined to happen sometime. Whether it would’ve happened in their eighties or before. 

It makes no difference to me.

I hear Aunt Marine in the kitchen cooking eggs through the dining hall. 

I lay on the couch, wrapped in a woolen blanket. I’ve somehow managed to sprawl myself out so I take up half the sectional sofa in the living room.

The morning news is on and the weather man is done giving the forecast, and now the camera pans over to the news anchor–

“Staying on top of Channel 8 News, a man was arrested two days ago, charged on the account of the murder happening five days ago of George Ross III and his wife Danielle—“

The tv goes black and I startle. I look behind me and Aunt Marine is staring at it, face white like she’s just seen a ghost. She’s holding the remote in front of her and in the other hand a plate of eggs with toast, which I assume are for me.

After I realize why she looks so upset, I feel a little bad. My mother was her sister after all. But everything seems to be tailored around me. Her having to come take care of me even when she also lost someone equally if not more important to her. 

I forget that. I know why seeing reports on the news might bother her even if they don’t bother me.

She clears her throat and smiles wearily at me, “you shouldn’t have that on. Here eat your eggs,” she lowers the plate from behind the couch and I reach up to grab it.

“Thanks,” I mumble.

I start stuffing in eggs and toast, hungry mostly because I haven’t eaten since yesterday morning.

She wipes her hands on her apron and waits a moment like she wants to say something or she’s waiting for me to say something more.

I wait, holding eggs in my mouth and she finally says, “are you okay? I mean do you want to talk about it? Because we haven’t really talked about anything and well–,” she gives a small laugh to fill the awkward air and scratches her head, “I just want to make sure you’re doing alright,” she says flatly.

I nod as if I’m taking her words in slowly. I’ll grant her what she wants, if she wants to see that I’m listening to her, then it’s the least I can do.

I swallow what’s in my mouth and get up from the couch, unraveling in my blanket cocoon. 

I give her an affirming smile. One that’s supposed to say everything is alright. I see the visible tension in her shoulders leave and she returns my smile with more sincerity than mine had.

I put a hand on her shoulder as I go to eat the rest of the eggs up in my room.

“Maybe tonight,” I say. 

But I know that’s a lie. I have no such plans of doing so.

I head up the stairs and reach my room. A sudden wave of panic rushes through me and I almost drop my plate, saving it before it hits the floor.

I stumble inside my room, fumbling with the door knob until it opens. I set the plate down on my dresser, feeling like I’m about to throw up. 

It feels like I’ve been hit by a truck.

I cover a hand over my mouth, feeling a sudden sob rattle through me and I squeeze my eyes, shut tight, tight.

I hold onto the backrest of my desk chair, needing to grip onto something before I fall over. 

I stagger forward, knees hitting the bed and I let myself fall into the king size mattress, burrowing into the unmade sheet. I feel myself shaking but I can’t stop.

My parents are dead.


End file.
